


Close to his nightmares

by Taera



Series: Obsession [2]
Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: Dreams and Nightmares, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Jonathan is... complicated, M/M, Original Character(s), Poor Geoffrey, Sort Of, Still, this is getting darker dammit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-07 21:57:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21224873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taera/pseuds/Taera
Summary: "Come out, Reid, I know you're here!" he turns on his heels, looking around and searching for the leech. After all, being here without him is… wrong. A shudder slithers down his spine at the thought.





	Close to his nightmares

**Author's Note:**

> So, this little thing came out totally unexpectedly for me. And it... well. It's a continuation of my other fic, [Obsession](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20096809), and it won't make much sense on its own. At least I don't think so, but you are completely free to try and read it as standalone.
> 
> Not properly beta-read, if you see any glaring mistakes please tell me. After all, this fic was written in the short span of two days, so it's bound to have some typos.
> 
> Enjoy this ride south! :)
> 
> upd: Now this series has a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3Wi0QqNlkHhRgewRChea88?si=xqxx5SxbTnqQsCdeyWSFaw), yaaay.

Even now, almost a month since Reid's return, Geoffrey couldn't come to a definite conclusion whether the damned leech knew what was happening to him or not. If he did, then Reid's actions were questionable at best, what with all his "let's work together on that one, after all we're both here already", but if he didn't… how blind could he be, dammit? Or maybe he knew but wasn't interested and, being the gentleman he claimed to be, just kept silent. Oh, that would've been perfect.

Because in that case all Geoffrey needed to do was finally rip his stupid obsession out of himself and stomp it into the ground, grind it into dust, and fucking forget about it already.

Now that Skal population plummeted down, the need to keep every single man in Priwen was no longer so dire. It was a strange mixture of pride, joy and bitterness when one evening Geoffrey talked to everyone and promised to help find new paths to those who wanted to lay down their weapons and return to normal lifes. No more deserters, no more foreign Ekons feasting amidst the death and decay. The normal way returned to London; now only normal sickness ravaged the streets.

The beasts went underground, digging out their little dark holes, lurking in the darkest of shadows. Only the most cunning survived, and each hunt became even more dangerous than several months before. And despite many of the Guards walking away, those most experienced remained. Those who couldn't stop hunting the darkness when they knew perfectly well the beasts that were hiding in it.

Yes, he called away the Great Hunt, but only because those Ekons, while being vile creatures, became strangely quiet and well-behaved, so - not a critical threat for a moment.

Reid was the reason for this, Geoffrey was sure of that. And, somehow, he also knew the leech wouldn't speak of it. Not willingly. Not to him.

  


He knows he's dreaming the moment he finds himself back at the hall at the top of Pembroke, crates and whatnot stacked along the walls, UV-lights high under the ceiling, crackling and hissing, blinking on and off. He tries to make himself wake up, but nothing happens. Yet, if in the previous dreams (no, _ nightmares _) he was in the middle of their fight or already defeated, now everything seems a little theatrical. More unreal than usually. As if someone picked the wrong decorations for the play.

"Come out, Reid, I know you're here!" he turns on his heels, looking around and searching for the leech. After all, being here without him is… wrong. A shudder slithers down his spine at the thought.

No-one answers.

Cursing under his breath, Geoffrey checks his weapons (only his sword is at his side) and goes on a hunt. When he descends into the hospital proper, the corridors are eerily quiet and lifeless. No nurses running to and fro, no patients coughing, moaning or screaming, not even the smell of drugs mixed up with blood lingers in the air. It's all just… empty. A shell without life, pristine and orderly.

When he gets to the basement, suddenly, everything changes; now he knows where all of the people went. Their bodies, broken and white, lie scattered around, thrown and forgotten like old dolls. Their throats ripped open, splatters of blood painting the walls, blooming red on their clothes. It's so bright every other color bleeds out, leaving Geoffrey in a darkness of crimson flowers; and the smell is _ intoxicating _. Bile rises in his throat, anger and determination burn inside. He knew Reid was a monster, yet he allowed him to live. And these are the consequences of his choice.

Farther into the massacre he goes, silent on his feet and sword in hand. This must stop.

Reid is sitting on the floor, holding himself up with one hand. His coat is nowhere to be seen, his clothes are… ravaged, torn and bloodied, revealing his throat, one shoulder and chest. There is. _ Blood _ everywhere on him. Everywhere except his face. His icy-gray eyes warm with the smile that is curving his delicately pink lips.

"You've returned," Reid isn't bothered by the red death around nor by the state of his own clothes. His voice low, dark, husky with promise of _ more _. And, suddenly, all Geoffrey can think about is how white his neck is, surrounded by shredded shirt and bloodstains.

A moment later he's standing right before the leech, shaking from anger, watching Reid watching him. That damned smile never leaves his thin lips.

"Tell me _ everything _, my dear hunter," Reid looks right up at him, not an ounce of obedience even in this position.

When he opens his mouth to answer, something drips from his chin.

  
  
Geoffrey jerked awake with a short cry, immediately sitting up and wiping a hand over the lower half of his face. Nothing stained it, yet the taste of coppery sweetness still lingered on his tongue.

That was… disturbing, to say the least. Or, more rather, sick, vile and disgusting. Him, a _ leech _?! That was seriously fucked up, that's what it was. Why the hell would he dream about that?

And, of course, in this moment came the unprompted memories of how Reid contemplated his fate; Geoffrey could've sworn he'd heard the beasts' thoughts in that moment, how he'd played with the idea of turning him into Ekon, but chose mercy in the end. Geoffrey shuddered in horror and disgust at the thought of how close he was to his worst nightmare.

Shaking himself out of this dangerous melancholy and shoving today's dreams as far away as possible, Geoffrey plunged himself into work. Yes, things calmed down considerably in the last several weeks, yes, he'd let almost half of his men go their way (helping them finding jobs wasn't easy, oh no, but now he had more connections than ever), and yes, there were almost no patrols during the night now. But the killings never ceased, especially not in the East End. And so their hunt continued. Granted, many of the dead were victims of mere humans, and it was hard not to go after them as well, but Geoffrey made it clear that Priwen fought only leeches. If they saw a crime or learned about a murderer, then someone went to the coppers and told them about it. Well, _ if _ said crime was of any relevance, because nobody cared about the poor. Geoffrey was no fool, he didn't believe police would do right; too many times he had to bribe them into silence and cooperation.

Now, he was able to freely roam the streets, only keeping an eye out for human thugs and occasional copper if he strayed too far into the nicer parts of town. But he didn't go near the fancy houses, parks and boutiques, he went to check disturbing rumors about someone called The Sad Saint, who, if the information was correct, was managing the night asylum for the poor. And who was constantly ill, according to the whispers. Geoffrey wouldn't have been here at all if some of his men, living in the neighbourhood, didn't mention the fact that nobody saw The Sad Saint during day for the last three months, maybe even more. And _ that _, obviously, merited an investigation.

The streets were dark and damp, and Geoffrey couldn't help but remember how his Captains and he painfully worked out patrol routes for this area. Too many alleys, dead-ends and narrow winding streets, too many ways to get lost and, ultimately, dead. The smell of dirty water and riverbank crawled up the roads, and he could almost taste it, mixed with stale food, damp bricks and bitter waste. It almost seemed empty and unfinished without Skals growling and lurking behind every corner.

And so the more sudden was the change when Geoffrey got closer to the asylum; the same crippling houses, the same old roads, yet, somehow, there was more life here. Maybe that was because there simply were more living people here, but even Geoffrey found himself relaxing a little. Tugging down the cloth that was protecting him from the illness as well as night air, he went straight to the gates, listening intently to the low murmur of people talking. And, indeed, there were a lot of them here. Not just those who didn't have anywhere to go, no, this was… some sort of a social gathering. There wasn't much in the way of food and drinks, but the tents were clearly of high quality, the crates sturdy. This asylum was doing good for the poor, that Geoffrey saw clear as day.

It was the first time in a long while that he sincerely hoped to be wrong in his suspicions.

But… it wasn't the first time he'd heard of this Sad Saint; the first time was when patrols reported of a murder in Pembroke not too long after the epidemic started, with two patients suddenly disappearing and leaving behind only pints of blood on every surface available. Geoffrey felt almost guilty for not investigating right then and there, but Swansea was his bigger problem, along with Reid and their machinations.

One from the crowd noticed him and briskly walked closer. It was a woman in a dull brown dress, her gait quick, steps confident, eyes wary and sharp. Smell of jin was clinging to her.

"Who are you?" her voice was as sharp as her gaze, if a little slurred from the drink. "You don't look like you need help."

"Geoffrey McCullum. I came to speak with Mr. Hampton. Is he available?" it would've been funny how this small woman glared daggers at him, clearly protective of the Saint, if Geoffrey didn't know several other women who were among his best hunters.

"No, he isn't, now sod off!" she barked, hackles rising. Oh, he'd hit a nerve, didn't he?

Narrowing his eyes, Geoffrey looked once more over the courtyard, all the while keeping a part of his attention on this little protector before him. People started noticing them and that something was afoot. Several even visibly flinched when he looked at them. Pathetic.

"Giselle!" another woman's voice, clearly anxious and breathless as she ran towards them.

"Don't you 'Giselle' me here," the first one hissed at her… yes, sister, clearly. Still, no-one in the vicinity resembled the description he was given of The Sad Saint. "Don't you see he's trouble?" Giselle turned back to him, clearly more angry than before. Did she know anything? "I don't care who you are, I know a bastard when I see one. So, go the fuck away or I'll-"

"Giselle!" the sister clutched the other's shoulder, clearly trying to obstruct her movement.

Geoffrey smiled, looking Giselle from head to toe and back up, noticing several places where she could actually hide a weapon. Excitement flowed down his veins, sensing even this slim possibility of a fight.

"Is he inside?" he asked her sister, not taking eyes off the little protector.

"He's not feeling well right now, so can you pl-"

"Lottie!" Giselle exclaimed in the exact same tone her sister used earlier, and jerked her a couple steps back. She even lowered her voice to the angry hissing, although Geoffrey still was able to hear their conversation well and clear. "He's dangerous, don't you see that?"

"Yes, but what if he could help Mr. Hampton?"

"We've already sent word for Dr. Reid _ despite _ Mr. Hamptons wishes, and you want to involve some _ rabble _from the streets?"

Oh, this evening got more interesting by the minute. And his suspicions became more and more grounded in facts. Also, he was done listening to the bickering.

"Okay, you two, shut up and show me to Hampton. I won't leave without talking to him, you can either shorten my stay here or _ stay away _." he slipped into his commanding tone and, not even waiting for an answer, briskly went towards the factory-turned-asylum.

The sisters tagged along. Of course they did.

Once inside, among the labyrinth of cots and old machinery, Geoffrey looked around, assessing what he saw. Narrow passages, some trash scattered here and there, lines with drying sheets. Some residents were already sleeping, others were dazedly staring into the air before them. Too many civilians in too little a space. If fight broke out, they would be slaughtered like cattle.

Geoffrey pursed his lips and looked at Lottie. "Where to?"

She, ignoring her sister, gestured to the right. A door was closed in this house of non-existent doors. "He's in there. But he's… unwell."

This is not good. If he was turned into Skal, this was going to plummet into massacre in a matter of hours. Yet, there was this fact that, somehow, for all these months he lived peacefully, and Geoffrey was sure Reid had a hand in it. It wasn't a coincidence they called for him tonight, after all. The leech clearly visited on a semi-regular basis for these people to be comfortable in asking him for help directly. Was he keeping a close eye on his Progeny? What a monster would turn such a good man into a Skal?

Silently, Geoffrey went to the door and rapped knuckles on the wood. No answer came. He listened carefully, and, under the commotion outside, could make out hoarse breathing. Not good. He glanced behind; the sisters were hovering close-by, watching him with wary eyes. Giselle was keeping her right in a pocket. Danger. If he tries to break down the door, she could very well hit him in the back, and that's not saying anything about the soon-to-become-feral Skal behind this thin sheet of wood. And something told him this night was the last. If nothing was done tonight, tomorrow evening this asylum will run red.

Damn it, he should've taken Ralf and Sanders with him tonight.

Heels clicked on the cobblestones, then on concrete. Hair at the nape of Geoffrey's neck stood on end when he recognized this gait. His hands itched to unsheathe the sword; he settled on taking out his revolver and cocking it. Giselle cried, taking out her own pistol, Lottie grabbed her arm, keeping the muzzle to the floor. The civilians started raising from the cots, curious about what was going on.

"Giselle, please, go out and make sure Mr. Grayton is not making any trouble," smooth, dark voice of the leech pierced the localized chaos around Geoffrey, making everyone freeze. Everyone except him. He looked, a little astonished, how Reid mesmerised the whole room with just one sentence.

"Dr. Reid!" Lottie was clearly relieved he came. "This man was-"

"Everything will be fine, Lottie. Now go," another wave of bloody magic lapped at Geoffrey's mental walls, looking for a crack.

What the _ hell _. When had Reid become this strong? Stomping out sizzling fire of arousal, Geoffrey couldn't decide what he wanted more: feel apprehension at this obvious show of power, or be irritated at this showing off. Maybe he should take both.

Only the presence of civilians in close proximity kept him from lashing out at Reid. It didn't keep him from growling '_ fucking leech _' loud enough for the beast to hear.

Reid had the audacity to smile, the bastard, his cold eyes tracking something behind Geoffrey. Likely sensing Hampton through the wall. A frown deepened on his pale forehead.

"Move away, Geoffrey. I should be the first one to enter," he walked closer, gracious and dangerous and well aware of his powers. "Considering you'd want to come along anyway, I ask you to lock the door when you get inside. We don't want anything… _ untoward _ happening to these people, now do we," although it was phrased like a question, it was not one. Geoffrey wanted to wipe away this smugness off Reid's face, but the bastard was right. If he didn't want to let the Skal loose, he wasn't going to be the first one to enter.

It was almost like one of their improvised joint huntings. And, as always, Reid took the point as less killable of them. _ Protecting _ him, the bastard.

"Sean?" his voice turned warm and caring, _ anxious _even. Geoffrey didn't think it possible, but he could read those emotions in leech's eyes when their gazes met for a second. "Sean, it's Jonathan. Please, let me in. Let me help you." Strangely enough, Geoffrey couldn't sense the leech readying to a fight. After all, there was no way to help the crazed Skal, so why was Reid so calm?

"No," came a weak reply from the inside. "This is God's will, he made me this way, Mr. Reid. If one time wasn't enough, then that is what He wants."

"Sean. _ Open the door _." another strong wave of mesmerizing.

Hampton gasped softly, desperately. The lock clicked.

The room inside was sparsely furnished, the only thing that obviously received tons of attention was a corner with various crosses and icons. A religious leech? Geoffrey couldn't contain a derisive snort as he closed the door behind himself and turned the lock. In the meantime, his gaze quickly inspected what he was dealing with now. One almost insane Skal, huddling in the far corner under the icons, muttering prayers and clutching at the cross on his chest; one dangerous as seven hells Ekon, prowling towards aforementioned Skal; and one stupid human who had allowed himself to get caught with two leeches in a small cramped space. _ Again _.

Oh, fuck it.

Geoffrey raised his gun, targeting back of the Skal's head, only Reid stepped into the line of fire.

"Move, you bastard," Geoffrey growled, taking a step aside in a search of a better view.

"Don't make me regret letting you come here," Reid darkly replied, throwing an angry look at him. "Now be silent." Just to be contrary, Geoffrey prepared to rebuke this with a long reply, but Reid wasn't concentrating on him anymore. Instead, he moved to the Skal, stopped right at its side, and went to his knees. He gently pried away its hands off the cross, made it look him in the eyes. Somehow, every word flew right out of Geoffrey's mouth, leaving his tongue dry and immobile.

"I can't, I can't, don't make me do this again, please," in shock, Geoffrey saw red strings running down the Saint's face, starting from his eyes. He was _ crying _.

"I know, my friend. I know it's hard," raw pain and will intertwined in Reid's voice, and suddenly Geoffrey was glad he couldn't see his face. "But we have no other choice," he rolled up one of his sleeves and offered his naked wrist to the Skal. "Drink, Sean. It is the only way."

A wave of disgust rushed through Geoffrey. This wasn't helping a friend in need, it was using one's weakness against them in a despicable show of power. It was clear the Saint didn't want to do this, yet Reid made him, ignoring all his pleas. The Skal took his forearm reverently and, letting out a short sob, squeezed his eyes shut and bit down.

Truly, it would've been better to simply kill him and end his sufferings than do… whatever this nightmare really was.

And then… the sounds changed from distressed to _ hungry _ . Little mewls of pleasure fell in-between the wet and eager lapping and sucking. Geoffrey couldn't tear his eyes away from the bloody tableaux. Reid, clearly feeling _ something _, threw his head back, his breathing too controlled and even, his free hand carding through Skal's hair almost tenderly, like one would caress a lov-

Shaking out of his stupor, Geoffrey scowled. This was clearly not an ideal situation. Dangerous at best and catastrophic at worst; there was no happy ending here. At some point in the future Reid will not be there, and then The Sad Saint would slaughter everyone he cared about and start another Skal epidemic.

Seeing the sick thing shuddering on the floor, hugging itself in a futile attempt to warm up or defend, Geoffrey felt pity and anger. It reminded him of all the other poor devils that joined Priwen only to then get bitten and turn into beasts, crazy with bloodlust and hatred.

"You're a monster, Reid," vitriol dripping from his words, Geoffrey moved closer, making ready to shoot. "This is torture, don't you see he wants to die?"

The leech didn't even deem it necessary to get to his feet. Bastard.

"Oh, he's not an it now? And no, he does not. It's the matter of… _ what _ he has to do to live, not that he doesn't want to in the first place."

"Do you even hear yourself?! This is not right, Reid."

In a puff of black smoke the leech went from sitting to standing right in front of Geoffrey, making him instinctively want to lurch back. He held his ground, remaining mere inches apart from the bastard.

"Is it right, then, to let this asylum get closed? Is it right to leave all those people outside without his help and guidance? Is it right to kill a man only because he was too kind for his own good?"

"Yes, if on the other side of the scales sits a risk of another leech outbreak!" hissed Geoffrey in return. He had to make too many similar decisions in his life, he knew the bitter taste of it and how easy it was to make a _ wrong _ choice.

"Only until I find the cure," and right now Reid was so unbelievably hauty and sure of himself Geoffrey barely stopped himself from hitting him square in his beak of a nose.

"How long ago was the last time he drank your blood? Three months? Four? Tell you what, _ leech _ . If you don't make this cure of yours in that time, The Sad Saint will be no more. And it's not a threat, it's a _ fact _." only now Geoffrey made a controlled step back. He returned the gun into its holster and glanced at the still lying Skal. "Priwen will be watching him." He should've killed it right then and there. It was the right thing, the safest thing to do to keep humans from the bloodsuckers. And yet he did not go through with this plan. He was truly going mad, wasn't he?

"Thank you, Geoffrey," Reid was… smiling. It was bitter, not happy at all, and something deep inside Geoffrey's chest swirled, wanting to wipe this expression off his face. And not necessarily with blood and pain. "Now go; you undoubtedly have other things to do. We will talk later, I promise."

The night after that was eerily calm. The next one, too.

  
  


This one is different, he can feel it even before he opens his eyes. For one, he's not in some back alley or an abandoned house or even Pembroke, no. He's lying on a plush carpet on his back, his right side warm from the nearby fire. Nobody having even an ounce of common sense would place a carpet so close to open flames.

Also, his muscles _ ache _ . Almost every one of them, especially his thighs and back. Sitting up and looking around, Geoffrey doesn't want to think about what clearly happened here and with him, but the clues are impossible to miss. Crumpled pieces of clothing, thrown carelessly wherever, not so perfectly clean carpet underneath, the _ smell _ , warm and heady, and even the red scratches on his sides and hips. Oh, there happened something _ glorious _ here, he can still feel it in his body, in the every move he makes.

Humming silently, Geoffrey looks for the reason he's feeling so good right now. He finds Reid sitting in a chair, his pose something one could call artful debauchery; long pale naked legs thrown casually over the armrest, his white torso with only a dusting of dark hair glowing ivory, a cigarette in one lean arm slowly glowing. His head is thrown back, hairdo completely destroyed, sated smile playing over his illegally obscene lips. And not a scrap of fabric on him.

"Someone's in a good mood," Geoffrey cannot recognize his own voice in this husky and playful tone laced with innuendos. He doesn't bother with it, he feels too good.

"Oh, you've lost the right to shame me for that after tonight," Reid- Jonathan looks at him with his deep, beautiful red eyes, half-hidden under his lashes. He raises the cigarette to his lips and takes a deep slow pull, his cheeks hollowing a little.

Geoffrey finds himself crawling towards this pale statue to all wanton and indecent, stopping only when he could finally touch. He lets his hands roam, up and up, straightening himself, leave a chain of biting kisses along the way over the stomach, the throat, the pale chin until he can taste the smoke and the lips. Chuckling, Jonathan leans into the kiss, his free hand finding its way into Geoffrey's hair and scratching his scalp lightly, carding lovingly through the strands.

Humming, Geoffrey closes his eyes, falling into the familiar soothing chillness. The bite comes as a welcome mix of pain and pleasure.

  
  


When he woke up, he could almost smell the smoke of the cigarette, feel the other's tongue on his own, those cool long fingers in his hair. Icy boulders of dread tumbled down into his stomach, mixing with the simmering arousal and making him sick. This was… _ too real _. He had to do something with it, until it was too late.

Shuddering at the prospect those short words entailed, Geoffrey untangled himself out from the bed and made himself think about work, not some mad visions of his dark mind.

Today he was going to tell his Captains there was no more any need of full Priwen presence in London. They would finally be able to send hunting parties over the isles again. Sanders actually cheered, right there in the middle of the meeting. Others were less enthusiastic but happy nevertheless their work in this city was close to an end.

Archer remained afterwards and, perhaps surprising them both, cornered him to his own table and kissed him, clutching at his vest and nape. Her hair flowed down from under the hat, giving him a clue that this was, after all, planned in advance. Her lithe body pressed against him, warm and soft under all the gear they still wore even in their headquarters. Her smell mixed with more familiar gunpowder and whiskey, common companions to them all. Geoffrey kissed her back, growling under his breath, suddenly aware just how long ago was the last time he allowed himself this. In the real world, that is. Too long ago, if you ask him.

Leaning back a little, he looked at her, drinking in the sight of her blown pupils and wet parted lips.

"That was unexpected," smiling, he pressed Archer closer.

"You have _ no _ idea how much I wanted to do this, you blind oaf. And don't you dare telling me we can't have sex; I'm leaving in a week and we could very well not see each other again, ever. So not a word, bastard," she was actually angry at him. It didn't hinder her passion, only made it burn brighter. Geoffrey didn't try thinking how blind he had to be to not see her or, for that matter, how it could be considered taking advantage of his position. He swirled them around, taking Archer by her thighs and lifting her to sit on the table. Something fell to the floor.

That night they didn't have time for much; no-one even lost any clothes. After all, Skals in the tunnels below the city won't kill themselves, especially not those three they were tracking down for the last five days. Knowing that upon returning Archer and he would be able to finish what they've started, Geoffrey had found himself in a lot better mood than usual. And the hunt itself had more taste to it, more reasons to bare his teeth in a wolfish smile.

The Skals proved to be a surprisingly coordinated team, their fighting on a whole new level compared to those they had during the epidemic in the late 1918. But Priwen came prepared; they weren't holding back with using any and every tool available to them, so, even this intelligent, the Skals didn't have a thinnest chance of winning. Watching as Davidson and Sanders beheaded the beasts in a couple of efficient short blows, Geoffrey felt a surge of pride. He managed to guide Priwen through the dark times and not only survive, but make it stronger than before. A force to be reckoned with. This, this confidence in his men's ability to thrive and carry on Priwen's legacy was the best reward for all the losses and the pain.

Everyone got home safely, only some scratches here and there, their spirits high and dancing. They were not just doing their duty, no, they were doing what they believed in, what they loved doing. Without which they couldn't live anymore.

A busy week went by, each day bringing good news of less sick and more alive on the streets. And not a wisp of the damned nightmares. Finally.

  
  


Pain. Flashes of light, blinding in their intensity. Cold fingers clutching his chin in a punishing grip. Blood bubbles in his lungs, leaves coppery tang on his tongue.

"You belong to _ me _, Geoffrey," low, too familiar voice says over his right ear, sending sharp shiver and heat deep into his guts.

He opens his mouth to scream, to breathe, but nothing comes out.


End file.
